


An Archangel and A Demon Walk into a Bar

by Superfast_Jellybitch



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Arson, Drunken Shenanigans, General tomfoolery, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, dumbasses in love, oh well, see if that stops me, wow i really am the only one on this godforsaken ship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-05-14 16:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19277419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superfast_Jellybitch/pseuds/Superfast_Jellybitch
Summary: Hastur, grieving the loss of his partner, the loss of his job, and the growing feeling of displacement decides to handle his problems the same way humanity has done for thousands of years- by getting piss drunk and forgetting it all.Gabriel, feeling lost and like the universe's largest failure, grappling with being abandoned by the almighty, decides to take a leaf out of humanity's book and get piss drunk.Everything changes when they wake up in the same hotel bathtub.





	1. Drowning

To say that Hastur had been taking things poorly since the world hadn’t ended would be a gross under exaggeration. The apocalypse would have been a welcome distraction from the loss of his best friend and partner in crime of over 6000 years, but said apocalypse never came to pass. Now? He had no job, no Ligur, and no war. For the first time in his life, Hastur had nothing. 

 

Hell wasn’t the same without Ligur at his side. The claustrophobic halls seemed cavernous and empty, and the flickering fluorescent lighting seemed far too bright and garish. Of course, moping around was to be expected, and the riots that had ensued after they’d been told to stand down proved to be a useful outlet, but things were changing down below. The dismal atmosphere had somehow soured even more, infighting had become more commonplace than ever, and Hastur couldn’t help but compare it to the Revolution. Change was coming. Perhaps it was already there. 

 

There wasn’t much need for a Duke of Hell anymore. Lately, his “job” had consisted of breaking up petty squabbles and trying to perpetuate some sense of unity. Lord Beelzebub’s demon empire had begun to fall, split clean in two by the question of “What’s the point?" Hastur’s beginning to ask himself that same question. He hadn’t rebelled against God so that he could bide his time trying to hold together something that was almost certainly about to shatter. It was as though he were rearranging deck chairs on the R.M.S Titanic. 

 

And then there was the tricky matter of emotions. He wasn’t supposed to have them, really. Or at least, he wasn’t supposed to let on that he might. Yet, that was something he’d always struggled with. Despite his best efforts Hastur’s heart, black though it may be, was firmly affixed to his sleeve. For the most part, he’d managed to use that to his advantage over the millenia, letting his general moodiness intimidate others, but times like this had him fearing it would be seen and exploited for the weakness it was. If he’d still had Ligur to lean on, things would be easier. But Ligur had been reduced to a puddle and Hastur was heartbroken, and alone. He wouldn’t survive another revolution. 

 

So, dismal though it may be, Hastur made his way up to Earth. He couldn’t stay in Hell any longer, and he’d sooner douse himself in holy water than go back to being a mindless drone of Heaven, so Earth it would be. It was the only true neutral ground in the whole universe. And if he were to be here, on earth, amongst the maggots called ‘man’, then he would take of it what he wanted- starting with copious amounts of alcohol. 

 

He’d never had any interest in the playthings and pass-times of men, though he’d been responsible for many a soul’s surrender to the sin of gluttony and excess, but he’d seen what alcohol did to bodies such as these, and there was a certain appeal in the idea of forgetting. Even if it was only for a little while. Even if things came back worse than they were to start with. 

 

Sundown saw Hastur paying outright for the bottle of the strongest tequila the seedy establishment had to offer, cradling it against him like a seasoned professional. He was meant to forget, but suddenly, all he could do was remember. He put his head against the bar, relishing in the cool feeling of the wood against his cheek. This would turn out to be a mistake. He could feel it in his very soul. 

 

\-------------------------------------

 

To say that Gabriel had been taking things poorly since the world hadn’t ended would be a gross under-exaggeration. He’d been given a lot to think about, especially for a being that hadn’t been designed to think. Angels who  _ thought _ and  _ questioned _ and  _ reasoned _ , fell. Or, at least, they did at the time of the Revolution. It had been Michael’s suggestion to switch to destroying every disobedient servant of God. After all, casting an angel out of Heaven would just give more manpower to Hell when Armaggeddon came. But now, Armageddon wasn’t coming, and everything they'd worked for so tirelessly from the beginning was for nothing. 

 

Well. Not all of them. Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate had always seemed reluctant when carrying out his orders. Which was just weird. Angels are meant to follow commands. That’s  _ all _ they’re meant to do. Sure, Gabriel thought he was a little weird, a little misguided, but he’d never thought the guy capable of violating the  _ Great Plan _ . He hadn’t thought  _ any _ of them capable of violating orders like that. Free will was for the humans. But now? Aziraphale had proven to all of them that an angel  _ could _ do as they pleased, and that scared him more than anything. 

 

Even more than when God’s orders stopped coming. They’d all had a terrible fright at that. After all, what was an angel to  _ do _ without instructions. But as Uriel had so brilliantly pointed out, they still had the Great Plan. Armageddon. The war to settle things once and for all. Maybe after they’d carried out the Plan, the Almighty would return to them again. It would never come to pass. 

 

Gabriel had been so angry when the Truce had been established. Angrier than he ever thought himself capable of. Indeed, his violet eyes had flashed with vengeful satisfaction when the Angel of the Eastern Gate had stepped into the flame. But now? He couldn’t bring himself to be angry anymore. What he felt was….guilt. Guilt, and fear, and the distinct shame that comes with failure. He’d been a shitty archangel. 

 

And what was he good for now, really? There were no orders to follow, no wars to be won, no smiting, no miracles, just Heaven, and Hell, and…...Earth. Earth wouldn’t be so bad, he decided. The clothes were nice, and humanity was always thinking up some new way to amuse themselves. Besides, there was something Gabriel found ever more enticing about the concept of “getting trashed”. Of losing all his troubles in a bottle of hard liquor and enjoying himself for just a little while. 

 

So he’d come down to see what all the fuss was about. To see what his traitor of a brother and his demonic boy toy had been willing to die protecting. He walked into the dirty bar, taking a seat next to a lanky blonde who’d clearly had a jump start on him. 

 

\------------------------------

 

Hastur blinked once. Twice. Then a third time. The archangel seated beside him did not disappear. He was real. But….why? Why, of all the bars in the world, did the bastard choose  _ this _ one? Maybe he’d be lucky and slip by unnoticed. 

 

That, however, would prove to be nothing more than a pipe dream, as he’d been staring way too long in his contemplation of what to do. The angel’s eyes meet his own, glass lifted to his lips. He sips the cocktail with all the grace of someone who has never consumed anything in his life, let alone something as strong as alcohol. They’re a striking shade of violet, and Hastur has to look away, unable to keep looking into them. He’s sure he’s going to be smited on sight, and braces himself for the worst. Maybe wherever he ended up, Ligur would be there too. To his shock, instead, the angel speaks to him. 

 

“Oh! Hello. I didn’t recognize you without the frog. It’s Hastur, right?”

 

“......Yeah.” He says slowly. 

 

Why was he prolonging this? They were hereditary enemies. If either of them were worth their salt, they’d be at each other’s throats. Hastur should be dead by now, but somehow, he’s still sitting there, listening to the Archangel  _ fucking _ Gabriel ramble about cocktails. 

 

“Do you… uh.. Come here often?” Gabriel struggled to make small talk, shifting uncomfortably on his barstool.

 

“No.” Hastur says plainly, refilling his glass. If he was to be toyed with before he was killed, he was at least going to have himself another drink. 

 

“Ah. Me neither. To tell the truth, I’m not too interested in the pass-times of humans. I mean. They’re just so….simple” He said, nose wrinkling in disgust as he downed the last of his Old Fashioned. 

 

“Oh, but you’re here.” Hastur pointed out. “Drinking hard liquor and chatting up a demon.”

 

The archangel’s cheeks flushed softly in embarassment and Hastur lets out a chuckle at his discomfort. 

 

“Betcha you’ve never even been drunk before, have you, Mr. Prim-and-Proper?” He pressed, leaning forward a bit on the bar. 

 

“No. Have you?” 

 

“Sure I ‘ave.” Hastur lies. “Gotta try out all 7 deadlies before they let you be a duke, ya know.” 

“All 7? Really? That seems a little excessive.”

 

Satan. Of  _ course _ he was gullible. Gullible Gabriel. Heh. That was funny. He’d hold onto that one. Hastur produced a glass out of thin air, filling it to the brim with the tequila he’d purchased earlier in the evening, offering it to his odd companion. 

 

“This’ll do tha trick faster.” He insists, lips curling in a slight smile when the angel takes it. “Don’t they make ya do anything special to be an archangel?”

 

“No.” Gabriel explained, taking a swig of the drink and then making the most dramatic face. “You’re either created an archangel or you’re not.”

 

“Seems like a right crock of bullshit to me.” 

 

The angel bristles at his words, clearly uncomfortable by his statement. Hastur grins widely, feeling a surge of pride at getting the upper hand in the conversation. He’d always had a talent for planting the seeds of doubt in the heads of believers, and it was a comfort to know he still had it.

 

“Well, it’s just the way things are.” Gabriel says decisively, taking another swig of his drink. He winces much less this time. Hastur’s almost disappointed.     

 

“That’s the problem with you lot.” Hastur sneers. “Never think for yourselves.”

 

“Oh, and you do?” Gabriel scoffs. “Seems to me you’re doing the same job I am, just for different people. Satan’s mindless drones...”

 

“Newsflash, asshole. Neither of us is doing  _ any  _ job.” 

 

“You’re right.” Gabriel slams the last of his drink like a pro, pushing the empty glass towards Hastur. 

 

With a self-satisfied smile, Hastur refills it. 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

The sun’s coming up, and something in the distance is on fire. Gabriel had always liked fire. It was just another thing they seemed to have in common. They had a lot in common, although he couldn’t remember most of it at this point. He swung himself around again on the lamppost, determined to make it look good this time. Just like Gene Kelley. Except drunk and dizzy. 

 

He needed to sit down, but Hastur had stretched out on the park bench, arms stiff at his side and face pressed uncomfortably into the slats of the bench. Gabriel plops down unceremoniously onto the grass by his head.

 

“Hey….Hey buddy? You alive?” He slurs, trying to get his head to stop spinning. 

 

“No.” Hastur grumbles into the wood of the bench. Gabriel giggles, ruffling his hair. Hastur is too drunk to care.

 

“Ha- *hic* -have you ever seen ‘The Sound of Music’?”

 

“No.”

 

“Oooooooooooooooh…..Hastur...Hastur we’ve gotta watch ‘The Sound of Music’ together.”

 

“‘Together?’”

 

Gabriel wasn’t really listening to him anymore. He’d petered off into a one-man rendition of “Sixteen going on Seventeen”, singing with the confidence of someone who’d cleaned out a liquor store a few hours ago. 

 

\-------------------------------

 

“Hastur…...LaVista.”

 

“........Your name is Hastur LaVista?” The front desk attendant looked him up and down, a skeptical look on her face.

 

“....Cruel parents.” He offered with a shrug. 

 

“Alright, well, Mr. _ LaVista _ , I’m gonna need to see some ID before I can give you the room.”

 

“Oh yeah. Right. That.” Hastur grumbled, manifesting a matching ID card from his coat pocket. 

 

“........Here’s the keys to your room, sir.” She relented, handing him a little key card. “The wifi password is on the inside. Enjoy your stay and uhm...I’m sorry. About your parents.”

 

“Don’t be. They died in a mysterious fire.” He said with a smile and a wink, watching her recoil. Humans scare so easily. “C’mon Gabe.”   

 

\-----------------------------------

 

Hastur woke to the feeling of soft feathers tickling his nose, and a splitting headache that he vanished as quickly as he possibly could. He opened his eyes to find himself shrouded in white, soft wings wrapped comfortably around him. The being they belonged to slept unbothered on his chest, arms wrapped around his waist as if holding him with his wings wasn’t enough. It takes him but a moment before his body catches up with his brain, all of his muscles crying out in pain. Sleeping in the bathtub had been a bad decision, he decided as he folded his own wings away. 

 

Not as bad a decision, however, as sleeping in a bathtub with an  _ angel.  _ Fear pools in his gut, and he has to fight the urge to shriek. Waking him would be even worse. He was as good as dead. Gabriel stirs against him, wings fluttering and nose wrinkling. Slowly, his eyes opened, looking up at the demon he was actively using as a pillow. Violet eyes met his, and Hastur felt his heart jump in his chest. 

 

“Hey.” The angel says, voice rough. He sits up and stretches out, wings nearly hitting Hastur in the face. The demon sat frozen in place, too afraid to move. “Sleep is weird. Is it supposed to hurt like this?”

 

“....Might be the bathtub.” Hastur supplies, waiting for Gabriel to come to his senses. It doesn’t happen. 

 

“Oh yeah. Right.” He swings his legs over the side of the tub, climbing out of it stiffly. “Hey, do you remember anything about last night?”

 

“I remember you have an awful singing voice.” Hastur scoffs 

 

“Ouch. Rude.” 

 

Gabriel is fussing with his hair in the mirror, remarkably unconcerned to have woken up in the arms of a demon. Hastur doesn’t understand one bit of what’s happening, but he figures it’s best to just go along with it. He tucks his knees to his chest, putting his arms around them. 

 

“Head office ain’t gonna like this much…” He sighs to the tiles of the backsplash. 

 

Gabriel flashes him a glare in the mirror. 

 

“Hey stupid- in case you haven’t figured it out, there’s no one  _ fucking listening _ .” He spat, eyes flashing a darker shade of violet. 

 

“But what if-” 

 

“No one, Hastur. No one.”

 

He suddenly got the feeling that this had gone beyond just the situation of their drunken fraternization and into something personal. Hastur had never even thought to question what an Archangel had to drink away, but now he was beginning to draw his own conclusions. He almost asked about it, but Gabriel turned on his heels, making for the door. 

 

“I should get going. Plenty of...angel...things to do.” He lies. 

 

“Right, yeah. Me too. Well… demon things I suppose.” But Hastur is talking to an empty room, picturing purple eyes and wondering why this feels so much worse. 

 

Oh _shit._


	2. An Odd sort of Truce

Crowley practically floats to the door when he hears the small knock. There's only one being on earth polite enough to knock on his apartment door. Unfortunately, this is not him. His smile drops as soon as he opens his door. 

 

"Oh. Sorry. I thought you were someone else." Crowley groans, going to slam the door, but Hastur has already put one platformed foot in the frame. 

 

"...Ow." He winces. There was a lot of force behind that slam, and he hadn't been expecting it. "Hello Crowley."

 

"If you've come to drag me back to Hell, you've got-"

 

"I'm uh. I'm not here on business." He admits.

 

"What is this then, a  _ personal _ call? We don't do that, Hastur. We don't even like one another." Crowley hisses

 

"....You're the only one who knows about….this sort of thing."

 

"...What 'sort of thing', Hastur? What've you done?"

 

"I can't talk out here. Can I come in?"

 

Crowley looks him up and down, a look of barely disguised contempt on his face. With a great sigh, he pulls the door open, gesturing Hastur inside. Normally, he'd have told the demon to piss off, but the fact that he'd  _ knocked _ on his door and  _ asked _ to be let in was ringing serious alarm bells in his head. 

 

Five minutes later, Hastur sat stiffly on his couch, clutching a mug of black coffee he hadn't touched and staring guiltily at the floor. Across from him, legs draped over the arm of his chair, Crowley was growing bored and frustrated. 

 

"Are you gonna spit it out or did you just come here to piss me off?" He complained. 

 

"I….well….er"

 

"Hastur. Out with it."

 

"....Slept with an angel."

 

Crowley's feet hit the floor, glasses sliding down his nose enough to reveal the look of shock in his amber eyes. Now  _ that _ was interesting. 

 

"You  _ what? _ " He asked in a hushed tone, a devilish smile spreading across his face. 

 

"Everything was just too much and I just wanted to make it all go away so I went out drinking and then we were asleep in the bathtub together and now I don't know what to  _ do. _ " Hastur hastily explained, his sentence stringing together so fast it nearly gave Crowley whiplash. 

 

"Oh you meant in the  _ literal _ sense." Crowley sighed "Of  _ course _ you meant in the literal sense."

 

"Crowley this is  _ serious _ ." Hastur snapped. 

 

"Why? You got drunk and went to sleep in a bathtub with a guy. It's not like you're in _ love  _ or anything. No one's gonna give a shit." 

 

Hastur looks down into his coffee, silent and ashamed. Crowley groans in exasperation. 

 

"Oh for  _ fuck's sake, Hastur _ ! You can't fall in love with some twat you just met."

 

"......He's got violet eyes." Hastur says, barely audible, as though that was a perfectly reasonable explanation for falling in love with an angel he'd only met briefly. 

 

"You're stupid, you know that? You're a class A dumba- wait. Did you say  _ violet _ eyes?"

 

Hastur nodded silently. 

 

"Oh  _ fuck me sideways! _ " Crowley shouted. "You're talking about  _ Gabriel?! _ "

 

"Mhmm."

 

"Wha- What are you telling me this for, huh? Where do I factor into this clusterfuck?"

 

"Well. You've been dating an angel for a good while. I figured you might know a thing or two about… how to...go about it."

 

"And why would I help you?" 

 

Hastur looks towards the door to Crowley's office, a pitiful sort of expression on his face. Almost immediately, Crowley knows what he's thinking of, and he feels a twinge of guilt. Damn his sympathetic nature. Why couldn't he just be a heartless bastard like every other demon. 

 

"You killed Ligur." Hastur stated, a slight tremor in his voice. 

 

"You tried to have me executed." Crowley countered. 

 

"You  _ killed. Ligur. _ "

 

"You were going to kill me first!" 

 

" _ Crowley. _ "

 

Crowley went quiet, contemplating the situation before him. Yeah, sure, he hated Hastur with every fibre of his being, but the guy had a point. He  _ had _ reduced his last partner to a pile of demonic goo right in front of him. Frankly, he was surprised Hastur hadn't come to finally kill him. Besides. He'd  _ met _ Gabriel. Crowley had stood and watched the guy tell the love of his life to "Shut [his] stupid mouth, and die already." He was a twat in every sense of the word. If anything, these two  _ deserved _ each other.

 

"Fine! I'll help you. But don't think this means anything!" Crowley snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

"Wouldn't dream of it."

 

\---------–---------------

 

Gabriel was not nearly so polite when he miracled the bookshop door unlocked and pushed his way inside. The sign had said "Closed." and then underneath had read "Very very closed indeed. This means you. (sorry)" So Gabriel was confident that the conversation he was about to initiate would be private. He stepped into the shop, peeking around bookshelves looking for the owner, who he knew seldom left the place. 

 

"Aziraphale?" He called out. 

 

From behind him, he heard the scuffling of someone standing from an armchair, and the sound of glass breaking against a mahogany bookshelf. He spun around, only to be confronted with the business end of a broken wine bottle. 

 

"Gabriel. What a surprise. I'm afraid we're closed for the evening." Aziraphale's voice was cordial as always, but he made no effort to lower his improvised weapon. 

 

"Aziraphale!" Gabriel said with a cheerful smile. "Still haven't found your sword, I see."

 

"I don't mean to be rude, but  _ what _ are you doing here?"

 

"What, can't I just drop in on my favorite little brother?"

 

Aziraphale just blinked at him, thoroughly confounded. 

 

"I beg your pardon?!" Aziraphale cried. Deciding that his life was not in immediate danger, he restored the wine bottle to its previous state, setting it down on the side table behind him. He puffs up like an angry bird. "Excuse me for being so forward, but the last time we spoke, you were  _ sentencing _ me to  _ death _ . I can hardly believe you'd just 'drop in' on me, favor notwithstanding. Now. Once again. We are  _ closed. _ "

 

"Aziraphale, wait." Gabriel sighs, scrunching his eyes closed. "I need your help. I think I've made a big mistake."

 

"Well from what I've seen, you have friends in high places. Go ask one of them for help."

 

"I  _ can't _ ." Gabriel said miserably. "You're the only one who knows about these...  _ things _ ."

 

"What 'things', Gabriel?" Aziraphale snapped

 

"I've become...involved...with someone from the... _ Other side. _ " He says in a hushed tone.

 

"Oh goodness me." Aziraphale gasps. " _ Really _ Gabriel. I do not have the time nor the patience for-"

 

"He's got the prettiest eyes, Aziraphale. So big and dark. I could stare into them forever if he'd let me. And his  _ voice.  _ Oh my god his  _ voice _ . It's got this rough tone to it that just. It makes me tingly all over. And when he held me- Oh  _ Aziraphale. _ "

 

He's never heard Gabriel wax poetic before. Not in all the thousands of years he's known him. That and the waves of love pouring out of the Archangel played upon his heartstrings as easily as a harp. Curse him and his tendency towards romanticism. Aziraphale sighs, rubbing his temples with one hand. 

 

"Oh  _ alright _ ." He hissed, sinking back into his armchair and conjuring up a second one. He gestured for Gabriel to sit. "Why don't you start by telling me where exactly  _ I _ fit into all of this, hm?"

 

"Well you've been messing around with Crowley down here for centuries. I thought if anyone would be able to help me sweep Hastur off his feet, it'd be you."

 

Aziraphale choked on his tea. Of all the demons in the 7 circles, Gabriel had to pick one he  _ knew.  _ From the sparse time he'd spent with the demon, he'd drawn 3 conclusions. One: that the guy wasn't a demon by accident and most certainly took pleasure in being cruel. Two: that he had a deplorable flair for the dramatic. And three: that he was painfully, dreadfully, stupid. Oh dear. The match made all too much sense. They were undoubtedly, horribly,  _ perfect _ for one another. 

 

"Right. Well. How long have you two been..How did you put it? Been 'involved' with one another?"

 

"Oh, just since last night."  

 

"Firstly, you  _ cannot _ be in love with someone you've just met. Infatuated, maybe. But love- the kind you think you mean, at least- takes time. Second, have you tried just. Spending time with him?"

 

"Not sober, but-"

 

"Well there you go. Ask him to accompany you to dinner or to the theater or something nice like that. The rest will follow naturally. Now would you please le-"

 

"Wait, what if he doesn't want to? And what should I  _ do _ ?" 

 

Aziraphale gave a tired sigh, wracking his brains for a way to quickly and effectively explain human dating conventions to one who had never cared to study them. He comes to exactly one conclusion 

 

"You are familiar with the musical number 'Sixteen going on Seventeen' from 'The Sound of Music', correct?" He near-groaned. 

 

"Uh.  _ Duh. _ "

 

"Yes, well,  _ that _ is what you do on a date. Enjoy one another's company. Make small talk. Kiss, if it goes well."

 

"Kiss?"

 

"Oh good  _ lord,  _ Gabriel.  _ Really? _ ” Aziraphale asked incredulously. When he was met with a blank stare, he continued, face flaring up a bit in embarrassment. “That thing the humans do where they put their lips together.” 

 

“OH!” Recognition lit up behind Gabriel’s eyes. “I’ve always wondered why they do that. It’s weird. Those aren’t  _ for _ that.” 

 

“Yes well, trust me, it’s very nice.” He said shortly, rising from his chair. “Now _ really _ Gabriel. I must insist you take your leave. I still have to do inventory, and it’s getting late.”

 

Gabriel goes to remark on the fact that it’s only mid-afternoon, but decides against it when he recalls the way the smaller angel had greeted him. Instead, he stands from the chair, barely making it off the seat before Aziraphale vanished it away. 

 

“Thank you for your help.” He says with a grin, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He tenses beneath him. 

 

The door to the bookshop slams almost on his heels and Gabriel hears the locks sliding shut behind him, almost certain that there were fewer of them when he’d come in


	3. The Sound of Music

A day passed. Then another. And another. Until it had been a full week since the angel had walked out of his hotel room. He didn’t have a phone, and even if he’d had one, he didn’t have a number to dial. Hastur hadn’t ever trusted electronics, but after his stint in voicemail, he’d taken to avoiding them like the plague. So, he hadn’t had a way to  _ contact  _ Gabriel even if he’d wanted to. 

 

There was a Starbucks coffee down the street. The chain had been established only a few decades ago by one of their own, and had proved to be a quite efficient way to convince humans to sin. Gluttony, avarice, pride, sloth, all wrapped up with a little green mermaid. Hastur wished he’d thought of it, but would be content with the knowledge that Crowley had not. As he walked down the sidewalk, rain began to drip from the dark clouds overhead, dampening his coat. He still didn’t know if he was a coffee drinker, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to find out while he was mucking about with the humans. Besides, despite the assumptions one could make, he really was not fond of standing out in the rain. 

 

He sits at an empty table, a cup full of a horrifically sweet coffee-adjacent drink with the word “Hamster” sharpied across it clutched in his hands. Hastur wasn’t sure about the taste of it, but the warmth of the liquid through the cup was exquisite on his chilled hands. Wet was bad, cold and wet was  _ worse _ . Just as he was beginning to enjoy himself in the coffee-scented den of sin, the chair across from him sild out and someone slid into it. He looked up from his drink, ready to yell at whoever thought it was okay to approach him. His dark eyes met bright violet ones, and felt his face flush.

 

“We keep meeting like this.” Gabriel smiled, gaze lingering on him for just a little too long.

 

“Two times hardly counts as a pattern.” Hastur scoffed, sipping from his paper cup. The liquid scorched him going down, but he didn’t mind. He was quite fond of the burn, actually. 

 

“We could make it three.” The archangel says plainly. 

 

Hastur nearly dropped his drink, sloshing coffee onto his coat, adding another stain to a growing collection. Was he….being flirted with? That was far too much to hope for. Sure he’d gone to Crowley to learn all he could about consorting with angels, but he hadn’t even  _ done _ anything yet. Hadn’t yet decided if he  _ could _ . Still, he should say something, shouldn’t he? 

 

“What er. What did you have in mind?” He asks, eyes cast down. He doesn’t think he can bear to look Gabriel in the eyes. He’s far too scared of what he sees there. 

 

“I vaguely remember you saying you’ve never seen ‘The Sound of Music’?” 

 

“Sounds about right.” 

 

Gabriel produced not one, but  _ two _ theater tickets from the pocket of his ice-blue blazer, pressing them onto the table. Hastur just stares at them, wide eyed. He’s never been to the theatre. Not even when it  _ was _ easily accessible for the common man. Gabriel is looking at him from across the table, arms folded in front of him, expectant. With a shaking hand, Hastur takes the one off the top, putting it into his pocket with a gentle tap. 

 

“Great! So it’s a date then?”

 

“Never said I’d  _ come _ .” Hastur grunts. “Might just sell the ticket for a quick buck. These things can fetch a pretty penny nowadays.” 

 

“You won’t do that.” Gabriel says confidently. 

 

Hastur almost decides to hawk the ticket for that statement alone. Except, he really did want to go. He’d just decided, after making the mistake of looking up into those beautiful violet eyes. He’s not interested in the show at all, but then again, he’s not going for the show. He’s going for those eyes, for that smile, for that out of tune singing voice. Hastur’s not certain he’s ready for this- not so soon. It almost feels.. disrespectful. Like what was left of Ligur hadn’t even gotten cold yet and he was already on to the next one. But  _ satan _ he wanted it. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. And ultimately, Hastur was a selfish creature.

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

“You didn’t like it.” Gabriel sighed, rolling his program and tucking it under his arm.

 

He’d watched Hastur’s reactions intently throughout the whole show. After all, Gabriel had practically memorized the musical, why should he pay attention to anything else? But Hastur had sat stone still in his chair the whole show, seeming to absorb the musical the way one absorbed a powerpoint at the world’s most dull meeting. Gabriel was just certain that he’d failed again. 

 

“I liked the bit where it all went to shit and they had to cross the swiss alps on foot.” Hastur offered. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

 

“You would.”

 

Gabriel plopped down onto the bench outside the theatre forlornly. He was bad at being an archangel, and he was bad at picking dates, and maybe- just maybe- he had shit taste in musicals. He buried his head in his hands, sighing heavily. The demon sank down next to him, still flipping through his playbill. 

 

“You don’t have to pretend you liked it for my sake.”

 

“T’wasn’t too bad. You alright?” 

 

“Yeah I guess.” Gabriel sighed. “I’m sorry for wasting your evening.”

 

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his knee, thumb rubbing against him in an attempt to console. He looked up, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. 

 

“I wouldn’t say it was a waste.” Hastur shrugs. “Besides. Evening’s not over yet.” 

 

“You mean that?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Gabriel offered him the slightest hint of a smile, placing a hand over the one on his knee, fingers toying with the fraying leather of Hastur’s glove. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t fucked everything up completely. Not yet, at least. After all, as Hastur pointed out, the evening wasn’t over yet. He looked up into the demon’s eyes, captivated by their black depths. Decidedly, he leaned in and pressed their lips together in what might have been the most tense and brief kiss in all of history.

 

“Wh-what was that?” Hastur stuttered, looking quite shaken. He’s taken his hand back to fidget with the hem of his coat. 

 

“It’s uh. It’s called ‘kissing’. The humans do it when they uhm. They’re courting one another… and things are going alright. It’s weird, I know.” 

 

“Huh. Here, lemme try.”

 

Hastur catches him by the chin, pulls him in and- oh! That felt different. Chapped lips moved gently against his own, betraying their experience. Gabriel's heart jumped in his chest, and he had just enough good sense left to miracle the attention away from them before his brain went to television static. Calloused hands cupped his face, deepening the kiss and Gabriel struggled to keep up. Just as soon as he'd gotten the hang of it, Hastur pulled away. Gabriel opened his eyes, still just a little dizzy, and was surprised to find Hastur had moved to the opposite end of the bench. Tears streaked his face, answering a question Gabriel had had for a long time about the emotional capacities of demons

 

"What are you doing?" He asked, head tilted in confusion.

 

"Nothin." Hastur lied. "Don't worry bout it. M’fine"

 

"Are you sure? Cause it looks to me like you're doing that thing with your face that people do when they are  _ not _ fine."

 

"Yes." Hastur insisted, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

 

“Is it me?” Gabriel asked, heart sinking.

 

“It’s not you.” 

 

“You sure? I kinda feel like it’s me.”

 

“It’s not you.” Hastur repeats, standing from the bench. “I have to go. Sorry.” 

  
The demon takes two steps away, and then disappears. Gabriel stares after him, still not convinced that this wasn’t about him. After all, he’d been the one to start this. He realizes with a sinking feeling that he still hadn’t gotten Hastur’s phone number. Truthfully, he didn’t even know if the demon  _ had _ a phone, mobile or otherwise. Wasn’t as if it mattered, anyway. Somehow, some way, he’d messed up again. He couldn’t even  _ rebell _ right. Maybe he was just stupid for thinking they’d be anything but bad for one another. 


	4. Climb Every Mountain

“They’re doomed.” 

 

“They are not! They’re just….adjusting. It’s a learning moment”

 

“Were you watching the same show I was? Because  _ that _ went down like a lead balloon.”

 

“I am  _ trying _ to enjoy my dessert, Crowley.”

 

“You’re just upset because I’m right.”

 

The serpent and his angel sat catty-cornered in a booth in a dark little restaurant which Aziraphale liked specifically for their black forest cake. It had been Crowley’s idea to...supervise...the first date. After all, if it ran afoul, it would likely be their job to handle the fallout. Besides, they had a bet going as to whose ‘charge’ would be the one to screw things up. 

 

“All Gabriel did was kiss the man.” Aziraphale says haughtily. “I mean. It was less than impressive, but  _ hardly _ deserving of a reaction like that.”

 

“Oh, give the poor guy a break!” Crowley hisses, stealing a bite of his cake. “He’s only been widowed half a year!” 

 

“And whose fault was that, hmn?” 

 

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, flashing Aziraphale a glare that couldn’t be seen behind his dark glasses. It wasn’t as though he  _ liked _ defending Hastur, but there was a bet to be won. As far as Crowley was concerned, Gabriel was already digging himself into a pit and Aziraphale was simply in denial of it. 

 

“Doesn’t matter whose bloody  _ fault _ it was.” Crowley pouted. “My point is that your man is moving too fast!” 

 

“Perhaps you have a point.” Aziraphale relents. “But that’s no excuse for the utter lack of communication. Honestly, just storming off like that after Gabriel put his heart on the line….I had to tell him what kissing  _ was _ , you know.”

 

“I could tell.” Crowley snorted, earning him a sharp kick to the shin. “Ow! Quit that, you brat!”

 

“Hastur’s going to have to open up at some point if he wants this to work. Gabriel’s not a mind reader. He’s not even  _ intuitive _ , for heaven’s sake.” 

 

“You can say he’s stupid. It’s alright. We all know he’s stupid.”

 

“ _ Regardless. _ ”

“Do you know how hard it is to get a demon to open up? It’s damn near impossible. We don’t exactly  _ trust _ easy.” 

 

“Oh, I am  _ so sorry _ .” Aziraphale said sarcastically. “What would  _ I _ know of demons and their seemingly instinctual trust issues.”

 

“Sorry.” Crowley winces, feeling the bitterness beneath Aziraphale’s tone personally. “I didn’t mean-”

 

“I know you didn’t, dear.” 

 

Crowley reaches across the table for Aziraphale’s free hand, taking it within his own and running his thumb across his palm apologetically. He still can’t believe it took them all this time to get to this point. Still can’t believe they’re actually  _ at _ this point. It’s almost too good to be true. 

 

“Why are we even doing this?” Crowley sighs, letting his head hit the table with a thunk. 

 

“....I think you know why, love.” 

 

And he did. True, neither of them  _ liked _ Hastur  _ or _ Gabriel- In fact, Crowley felt secure in saying that he hated both of them- but this wasn’t about their personal feelings. This was about the fact that after all this time of being the only ones, of being too scared of what either side would think, of secret and forbidden longing,  _ they weren’t the only ones _ . Ultimately, they both wanted Hastur and Gabriel to work out because it would prove that their love wasn’t just some fluke occurrence. That they could be kind to one another again. That angels and demons could love despite the differences. Aziraphale’s hand finds its way to his hair, ruffling it affectionately. 

 

“Let’s go home, darling.” 

 

Home...he’d never grow tired of hearing that word in Aziraphale’s voice.

 

\-----------------------------------------------

 

“Hello, can you tell me if there’s a man who answers to ‘Hastur LaVista’ staying here?”

 

“I’m sorry sir. We can’t give out guests’ personal information.” The receptionist answers in monotone. 

 

The young man has been pointedly ignoring him for a good 3 minutes now, and Gabriel is beginning to get frustrated. It had taken a good few hours for him to find the address of the hotel they’d stayed in that fateful night, learn to use the gps on his phone, and then get there. Plus, his arms were getting tired from holding the bouquet of flowers and cups of starbucks coffee. 

 

“Please? I just need to speak to him.” 

 

“I’m sorry, but I really cannot help you. It’s against company policy.”

 

Gabriel scowls, turning with a huff. He’s about to give up, when what is possibly the smartest idea he’d had all week pops into his head. He turns back to the reception desk, smile as charming as ever. 

 

“Alright then. I’d like to check in.” 

 

“Okay, I’ll need a name and a phone number-”

 

“But I’d like a  _ specific _ room, if that’s alright with you.”

 

The receptionist raises an eyebrow.

 

“.....Sure. Which-”

 

“Suite 230.” 

 

“I can’t rent you that room, sir.” The receptionist sighs.

 

“Why not?” Gabriel gasps in feigned surprise. 

 

“Because it’s already occupied.” 

 

Gabriel’s smile widens. So he  _ is _ still here. He heads to the elevators, throwing a hasty “thank you” over his shoulder. He reaches the door to the suite, and knocks, heart pounding wildly in his chest. There’s no response. Maybe he just didn’t knock loud enough? He tried again, putting the vase on the carpeted floor for a moment so that he could knock louder. Still nothing. Gabriel sagged in disappointment.

 

“What’s all this then?” sighs a familiar voice from behind him. 

 

Gabriel lights up, spinning around so fast he almost spilled the coffee, and succeeded in sloshing the water in the vase onto the hotel carpet. Hastur was leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes staring down at Gabriel with an almost affectionate annoyance. Quickly, the angel miracled the coffee hot again, nearly burning himself in his eagerness.

 

“It’s coffee! Uh I just asked the guy at Starbucks what he thought was good, so I don’t know what to really expect but I know you like it there. And flowers, of course, because that’s...the human standard..for apologies…” Gabriel rambled, shoving the paper cup into Hastur’s hands

“The receptionist told me to watch out. Said there might be a crazy man in a suit waiting for me at my door.” Hastur said flatly, taking the cup from him before the angel spilled anything else on the carpet. 

 

Gabriel’s face turns bright red. He hadn’t considered how all of this must look to anyone on the outside. His gaze drops to the light tan suede of his shoes. 

 

“I uh. I must look pretty stupid right now, huh?”

 

“A bit.” Hastur agrees, stepping past him to unlock the door to the room. He holds the door open, gesturing Gabriel inside. 

 

The Archangel hesitates a moment, unsure if he’s overstepping any boundaries. It was one thing when they were both drunk, but now that they were sober? And after the way their last “date” had gone.. Gabriel wasn’t even sure that a “yes” really meant “yes”. Yet when Hastur jerked his head in the direction of the room, Gabriel finds himself stepping through the door anyway. 

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

“And they’ll just...bring this ‘pizza’ thing? Right here to our door?” 

 

“Yeah! It’s crazy right? Aziraphale showed it to me.”

 

Gabriel sat on the bed next to him, showing him all the things one could do with a mobile phone. Truthfully, it wasn’t what he’d invited him in for. Far from it, in fact. But Hastur would welcome every distraction he could to avoid explaining himself. So he found himself ordering pizza for the first time with an overeager angel. 

 

He’s been trying not to notice Gabriel inching closer to him over the past hour, and failing miserably. Of course, the Archangel hadn’t exactly been subtle about it. Even now, it seemed as though his legs had begun to find their way into Hastur’s lap, and his head had begun to droop towards his shoulder. He knows he ought to, but Hastur makes no move to stop him. It’s not in his nature to do the “right” thing anyway. 

 

“Look! It takes pictures, too. Here’s a pigeon I scared on the way here.”

 

“....That just looks like a greyish smudge.”

 

“I know! Humans are very clever apes.” 

 

And just like that, Gabriel’s in his lap. Almost instinctively, Hastur wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him against him. In response, the angel lays his head against his shoulder, soft smile playing at his lips. He hasn’t held anyone like this since…  

 

No. He wasn’t going down that path tonight. But the association was almost impossible to avoid, and he couldn’t help the comparisons he made. Ligur had been so much more dense than Gabriel was, yet the angel’s body slotted against his just as naturally as Ligur’s had for millenia. His breath seemed warmer against his neck, and of course, there were those beautiful violet eyes staring up at him. Ligur’s eyes had been all manner of colors, always changing, always in motion, but never violet. Hastur gave a shuddering sigh. 

 

“......I’m sorry.” He says to no one in particular.

 

“For what?” Gabriel asks, cocking his head to the side.  

 

“This.” 

 

Hastur leans forward, kissing him as though his life depended on it. His arms clutch the angel tight to him, wrinkling his shirt quite thoroughly. If Gabriel minded, he certainly didn’t say so. Not that he had the opportunity, as his mouth was quite otherwise occupied. He did his best to keep up with the desperate demon despite his inexperience, his fingers twisted in his scarf, pulling him in even deeper. Hastur’s hands had just begun to loosen his tie, when there was a knock at the door. 

 

“Oh. That would be the pizza.” Gabriel groaned, reluctantly untangling himself and going to answer the door. 

 

“Why did we order that damn thing anyway?” Hastur grumbles, readjusting his scarf.

 

“Novelty.” Gabriel answers over his shoulder, handing the delivery boy way too many crumpled bills and shutting the door. The pizza is placed on the T.V. stand, where it will sit forgotten for the rest of the evening. The angel sinks back onto the bed beside him, putting just a little bit of distance between them. He takes a deep breath. 

 

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, hands folded formally in his lap. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”

 

“What’s ‘the obvious’?” Hastur counters, cocking his head slightly. 

 

“Stay focused.” 

 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hastur lies, becoming suddenly fascinated with the wallpaper. 

 

“You’re being all...jumpy. You’ve been jumpy since the beginning. Like you don’t really want to...do this.” Gabriel explains. “What am I doing wrong? How do I fix this?” 

 

“It’s not you.  _ Satan _ Gabriel, it’s not you.” 

 

“Then what  _ is _ it!” 

 

Hastur went very quiet. Sure, this had been what he’d meant to say from the beginning, but he still didn’t have the words to. He didn’t know if he’d  _ ever _ have the words to. 

 

“It’s only been a few months.” He says, voice shaking. “....you spend almost six thousand years together and then in one instant…that’s all gone.” 

 

Gabriel’s expression softens as the realization hits him. Without another word, he pulls the demon into his arms. Hastur wraps his arms around the angel’s shoulders and his legs around his waist, burying his face against his shirt. He couldn’t stand to see or be seen, too scared to be perceived as vulnerable. When a pair of wings join the arms around him, he breaks. 

 

On the rare occasion that Hastur cries, he does not truly  _ cry _ so much as  _ wails _ in a fashion that would make any banshee proud. In fact, the last time he’d let himself cry, some creative Irishman had invented the banshee. Gabriel, though startled by the sudden sound, simply soundproofed the suite with a wave of his hand and let him let go, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. They stay like that long after Hastur's wails fade to sniffles.

 

“We don’t have to do this, you know. If you’re not ready. If you don’t-” 

 

“No. Please, Gabe. I... I don’t want to be alone again.”

 

“...Me either.”  


	5. Firsts

Waking up in a bed felt quite different than waking up in the bathtub. For one, Hastur's body didn't ache from head to toe, a fact he was grateful for as he stretched out. There was something to be said for waking up with the Archangel Gabriel in his arms and knowing exactly how he got there. No wings this time, Gabriel lay across his chest, mouth ajar and snoring lightly, his hair tousled with sleep. He'd never guessed archangels capable of looking so ungraceful, and the sight made him smile a rare, genuine smile.

 

Gabriel stirred against him, nose wrinkling as he stretched out, nearly hitting Hastur in the chin with his arm. Catching him by the wrist just in time to avoid the collision course, the demon’s smile widens affectionately. Clearly he’d have to watch out for the angel’s limbs should they continue this. And he  _ did _ intend to continue this. At least, until the angel came to his senses. 

This wouldn’t last. It  _ couldn’t _ . Even if they weren’t meant to despise one another, this relationship was built on one drunken night and a handful of intimate moments. It wasn’t like him and Ligur. They had simply been meant for one another, at each other’s sides from the beginning. They had made perfect sense. This? This did not make sense. The way their forms fit so comfortably against one another did not make sense. The feeling of Gabriel’s shallow, sleepy breaths against him did not make sense. The sloppy, inexperienced,  _ adoring _ kisses did not make sense. The way Gabriel looked at him like he hung the stars (Which he had. A few, at least. But that wasn’t the point) especially did not make sense. 

 

He lifts the archangel’s hand to his lips, kissing across the knuckles cautiously, as if this might be his last chance to do so. And really, he’s so very acutely aware of the fact that any kiss he dares to take may be their last. So be it. He was a demon. He’d take them all anyway, right until the end. Gabriel’s eyes flutter open slowly, sleepily taking in the sight of his hand being kissed. 

 

“Mmmmm good morning.” He slurs, voice still husky with sleep

 

“Mornin.”

 

“I like sleep.”

 

“I thought you decided last time you didn’t?”

 

“I’ve changed my mind.”

 

“S’better when you’re not in a bathtub.” Hastur conceded. 

 

“I don’t know why the humans do anything else.” Gabriel said, burying his face against the sheets. 

 

“Dunno. Guess cuz they got other things they need to do.” Hastur supplied

 

“Like what?”

 

“Eat? Work? Reproduce? Die?”

 

“Ugh… boring.”

 

“Have you tried it yet?”

 

“Dying?”

 

“No. Eating.”

 

“Oh.” Gabriel grimaced. “No. Seems gross. Have you?”

 

“No.” 

 

“Do you want to?” Gabriel asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and crossing the room to where his new phone sat charging.

 

“Are you asking me to breakfast, oh holy one?” 

 

“No.” Gabriel says plainly. He turns his phone so that Hastur can see the clock. It reads 3:00. “I’m asking you to a late lunch.”

 

\------------------------------------------------

 

How does one choose a first meal? Whatever the proper procedure was, Gabriel was certain that he was flubbing it. It wasn’t his fault! There were so many different foods and different ingredients he’d never  _ heard _ of, let alone  _ tried _ . He had to do it  _ right _ . He wasn’t going to sully the temple of his celestial body for just any dish. How did Aziraphale make this look so easy? 

 

The waitress looks between the two of them nervously, quite obviously afraid to ask a 7th time if they’re ready to order anything but coffee. The poor thing had looked uneasy since she’d watched Hastur pour half the sugar container into his mug, and he’d hate to send her away again. Gabriel flashes her his most charming smile. 

 

“What, uh, what’s your favorite thing on the menu?” He asks. 

 

“Uh...well.. Our quiche-” 

 

“Perfect! I’ll take that.” He said, handing her the menu so quickly it made her jump. 

  
  


Try as he might, Gabriel always seemed to make humans...vaguely uncomfortable. While it had only been made known to him since the Virgin Mary assignment (Sweet woman. Not afraid at all to tell him he was a creep. Or hit him with a broom.) and while he frequently made the effort to not be, well...creepy… he didn’t seem to get very far. 

 

“Er.. and your….friend?”

 

“I’ll have what he’s having.” Hastur shrugs, looking as though he’s only just now checked into the conversation. The poor waitress has to fish the laminated menu out from under Hastur’s coffee mug, scurrying to the back almost as soon as she has it in hand. 

 

“.....Do you know what a ‘quiche’ is?” Gabriel asked, looking after her and feeling just a little sorry. 

 

“Not a clue.” 

 

“Well it’s what’s for lunch, apparently. Do you know how long it takes them to make food? I don’t wanna be impatient, but I’d rather just get this over with.” Gabriel whined. 

 

“Didn’t realize being on a date with me was that unbearable.” Hastur teased.

 

Except the demon didn’t really have a grasp on a teasing tone of voice, and Gabriel didn’t really understand insincerity all that well himself. Gabriel, looks at him, panic in his eyes. As quickly as he can without knocking anything over, he reached across the table and clasped both of Hastur’s hands within his own, threading their fingers together. 

 

“No! It’s not you! I’m so sor-”

 

“I didn’t mean it, airhead.” Hastur grumbles, giving his hand a slight squeeze. It’s not at all a reassuring tone of voice, but Gabriel is blissfully unaware of that, relaxing in his seat and taking back just one of his hands. 

 

Just then, the waitress returned, hefting a large tray with two plates. She sets one down in front of each of them, mumbling something about going to brew more coffee before leaving as fast as she came. Gabriel looks down at the plate before him, inspecting the ‘quiche’ thoroughly. Apparently it was some sort of pie, but with egg instead of meat or fruit. Nervously he pokes at it with his fork a bit before realizing that Hastur is staring at him from across the table, apparently waiting for him.

 

“Alright then…” He sighs “On three?”

 

“Sure.”

 

They both take a fork full of food, and Gabriel takes a deep breath. 

 

“One, Two- MMF!”

 

Before he can get to three, the demon shoves his fork into Gabriel’s open mouth, smirking wickedly. Gabriel looks at him, startled and aghast, before chewing. The taste isn’t unpleasant at all. In fact, Gabriel finds rather quickly he has a near-sexual enjoyment of cheese. Or well. What he would assume was near-sexual, anyway. Chewing, however? That was weird. Swallowing was weirder. He chased the quiche down with a bit of coffee. 

 

“Well?” Hastur asked expectantly.

“You’re a dick!” Gabriel exclaims, pointing at him with the end of his fork. “And eating feels...weird.”

 

“Right, so I should chuck this at our waitress then?”

 

“No! Don’t do that. It tastes fine. Besides you have to do it too. That was the deal.”

 

“Fine.” Hastur hissed, taking a bite of the quiche on Gabriel’s plate. 

 

Gabriel watches him with rapt attention-  the same way he’s sure Hastur must’ve watched him. Trying new things for yourself was exciting, sure, but there was something to be said for watching someone else experience something for the first time. For Gabriel the enjoyment was in the subtle crinkle of his brow as he tried to determine whether he liked it or not, in the way he held his fork- like someone who still hadn’t quite figured out how to do so yet, in the way his dark eyes slid closed and his lips parted as he finished. He wasn’t sure why, but Gabriel felt himself blush just a little at that expression. 

 

“So?” He asked, eager for feedback. 

 

“.....I still wanna chuck it at the waitress jus a little.”

 

Gabriel scowls at him and goes to jerk the plate away, but is stopped by a sturdy hand around his wrist. The blush on his face darkens. 

 

“Didn’t say I was  _ done _ with it. Greedy bastard.” 

 

“Just don’t  _ throw _ it at anyone!” Gabriel hissed, pulling his hand back. 

 

“Oh  _ alright. _ ” 

\------------------------------------------------

 

“See? I  _ told _ you!”

 

“Yeah, and  _ I _ told you that moustache looks stupid. Why couldn’t you just miracle one?”

 

“Because makeup is  _ fun _ ! Speaking of which, have you any idea how to remove spirit gum?”

 

“Oh  _ angel _ .” 

 

Crowley groans, holding his face in his hands. He figured this wasn’t just a nice little lunch when Aziraphale directed him to a cafe halfway across town, applying a fake moustache in the mirror on the way. Bloody thing wasn’t even on straight. He reaches across the table and rips it off, using just a bit of magic to make sure it didn’t hurt. Too much. Aziraphale pouts at him, rubbing his upper lip. 

 

“Was that really necessary?” 

“Was the moustache? Those two are so engrossed in each other, I could walk right up and say ‘hello’ and I don’t think they’d notice.” 

 

“You can’t guarantee that!” 

 

“Why do we have to follow these idiots around anyway?” 

 

“Because they asked for our help, and we  _ owe _ it to them to make sure it goes to plan.” 

 

Crowley wants to yell. Wants to stand up and shout that they owe those two beings  _ nothing _ after what they’d put them through. Wants to tell Aziraphale that they should be off enjoying  _ their _ happy ending that they’d waited  _ so very long  _ for. That he didn’t want to be in another stupid restaraunt babysitting a demon and an angel who couldn’t so much as  _ spell _ the word ‘love’, let ‘intimacy’. That all he wanted was to be back at the bookshop, kissing Aziraphale within an inch of his life. Instead, he sits back in his chair and pouts. Aziraphale reaches across the table to grasp his hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of it. 

 

“I know love, I know.” He tuts affectionately, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder at the couple they were spying on. “I don’t think we’ll be needed, soon. Not really. They seem to be working this whole thing out just fine on their own.”

 

“Tch. Bloody miracle that is. They’re both dumb as rocks.”

 

“Perhaps that’s their advantage” Aziraphale hums. “Too stupid to overthink things.” 

 

Crowley laughs at that, trying his best to keep his voice down. He loves it when his angel says such harsh things like that. Loves it when that little devious side peeks through. It’s becoming more frequent now that they’re free from either side. He presses a quick kiss to the angel’s knuckles, delighting in the way it makes him coo with affection.

 

“Run away with me.” He says quietly. 

 

It’s not like the other times he’s asked. There’s no impending apocalypse. There’s no threat of losing one another. He’s not shouting it from a distance. It’s whispered gently across plump knuckles, soft as a prayer, in the back of a dingy little cafe. The way it should have been all along. Aziraphale still looks at him as he has every other time he’s asked, though. Blue eyes sparkling with shock and with an emotion Crowley now knows for certain is love. He expects to see it shut down again, quietly quashed before Aziraphale thinks Crowley’s noticed, but he doesn’t. It lingers there far longer than it ever has before.

 

“Alpha Centauri?” Aziraphale asks under his breath, as if he’s still scared that if he speaks it aloud, someone or something will tear them apart. 

 

“Nah. Too hot. ‘Sides, they don’t have crepes on Alpha Centauri.” He says, before dropping his voice equally low. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, angel.” 

  
“Oh! Oh,  _ Crowley _ .” The way he says his name is positively reverent, and it almost brings him to tears to hear it. He’s quite glad for the sunglasses. “....I’ve always been fond of the seaside.” 


	6. Tear in Your Hand

Days pass. Weeks. Months. Still nothing calamitous happened. Hastur had slept beside an archangel. Had kissed an archangel. Had fed an archangel quiche off of his fork. Was currently holding hands with a  _ fucking archangel _ and nothing had happened. His skin didn’t burn when Gabriel’s fingers brushed it. Lightning did not strike him down when his gaze lingered far too long on his holy countenance. It was completely utterly and suspiciously normal. 

 

The other shoe had to drop at some point, and the longer things went on without event, the more anxious Hastur became. Never knowing how much time they had left, never knowing if this time he kissed Gabriel good morning would be the last. He had learned the hard way that the things you think will last forever can turn out to be quite finite.

 

“I think we should go home.” He whispers huskily into Gabriel’s ear, sliding up against him on the park bench.

 

It was funny, how they always ended up here-on a park bench somewhere, hand in hand, head on shoulders, not caring who or what was watching. Even from the first drunken night, these little park benches seemed to be their salvation.

 

Salvation. There was a word Hastur didn’t dare think on under most circumstances. It wasn’t something he thought a possibility. He still didn’t. Salvation was far too much to ask. Far more than he even wanted. But earth was close enough. Their own little playground, free of expectation. This was as close to salvation as he ever cared to get. 

 

“‘Home’? You mean the luxury hotel suite you’ve managed to rent for the last 4 months?”

 

“I’m a  _ demon _ . Gross misuse of power comes with the territory.”

 

“Right sure. Then you won’t mind misusing your power to get us there, because I  _ really _ hate Uber.” 

 

Hastur gives the slightest hint of a smile, and then kisses him. The world spins around them. Dissolves. For a moment, there’s nothing but he and the angel against him. When they finally pull away, the bench and the quiet park are gone, replaced by soft sheets and the now familiar sight of the hotel suite. Gabriel’s thumb caresses his cheek lovingly.  

 

“Show off.” 

 

“Better than an ‘Uber’, innit?” 

 

“ _ Much. _ ”

 

The angel pulled him into another kiss, hotter and heavier than the last. Desperate, even. Hastur kisses back fervently, pushing him back onto the mattress, hands gripping both sides of his face. Things had never really moved beyond kissing for them, but Hastur had plans to change that. Certainly, sexual congress with an angel was certain to put him in Hell’s bad books, if he wasn’t already, but he didn’t much care what Hell had to say anymore. What was it Crowley had said on the matter? Oh yes. “If you’ve got to go, do it in style.”

 

And he could think of nothing more stylish than Gabriel nude in his sheets, violet eyes clouded over with lust, shaking for him,  _ moaning _ for him. He wanted nothing more than to see the archangel fall apart under him. His fingers toyed with the hem of Gabriel’s cashmere sweater for a moment before slipping under it, running a gloved palm over the taught muscle of his chest, delighting in how he shivered. 

 

“What are you doing?” Gabriel asks, breathless.

 

“I want you.” Hastur rasps against the side of his neck, pushing his shirt up. 

 

“You have me.” Gabriel says, confused. “I don’t think I follow.” 

 

“No, stupid.” Hastur grins, nipping a hickey into his beautifully unmarred skin. “I  _ want _ you. Carnally.”

 

Trying to make his point, Hastur slides a thigh between Gabriel’s legs, biting more insistently into his neck. The angel makes a delightful whimpering noise, his hands coming to settle on Hastur’s hips. Hastur’s never really noticed how big they are before. 

 

“ _ Oh. _ ” Gabriel gasped. “Oh like...like intercourse? 

 

“Mhmm”

“Oh! I’ve uh.. I’ve never…done...that” 

 

“So? You’d never eaten anything, never had a drink, never watched a sunset. S’just like all that stuff.” 

 

“You’ve uh… had experience?” 

 

“A bit, yeah. 6,000 years in a relationship….you’re bound to get curious at least once.”

 

 “Oh good.” Gabriel sighs, sitting forward so that Hastur can slide his shirt over his head. ‘You can teach me.” 

 

Oh that was… that was something. He hadn’t even considered how arousing that would be; teaching an  _ angel _ to partake in the sins of the flesh. The idea sent a white-hot bolt of pleasure down his spine and inspired him to leave a fresh trail of bite marks from his neck to his chest. It was a lovely start to this endeavor, but only the beginning of what he was scheming. He slid his hand up Gabriel’s thigh and the angel actually  _ shivered _ . 

 

“Have you...er... you know.”

 

“Oh! Right. Genitals. Just a second.” 

 

Hastur slid his hand down the front of Gabriel’s pants, quite prepared for whatever he’d find there. Or rather, he’d thought he’d be prepared. His eyebrows raised in surprise as his palm slid over the biggest cock he’d ever felt. Granted, it wasn’t as though he had a wide range of experience, but still. 

 

“Is something wrong?” Gabriel asked, brows knitted in concern “Did I do it wrong?”

 

“N-no.” Hastur said, withdrawing his hand to pull Gabriel’s slacks down around his thighs. “S’fine.”

 

Without another word, Hastur curls a still-gloved hand around Gabriel’s growing erection, stroking it lazily, watching intently as the angel squirmed under him. If he hadn’t already begun to let his feeble imagination run wild, he’d be content to do this all night long. But Hastur was already beginning to grow damp in his trousers, and there was so much  _ more _ to do than give a half-assed handjob. He sped up his movements, growing more enthusiastic as Gabriel let out a soft moan of appreciation. Hastur’s hand slid down to undo the fastenings of his trousers, slipping out of them with only a little bit of difficulty, moving a hand to idly play with himself as he steadily drove Gabriel insane with nothing more than the touch of his hand. He’s just beginning to get into it when a hand finds its way to his hair, gently tugging him until he was back on the bed. 

 

“I want- let me-” Gabriel stutters, hand running up the demon’s thigh. 

 

“Sure.” Hastur shrugs, spreading his legs just far enough apart to allow his hand to slide comfortably between them. 

 

Or well. Comfortably enough for one of them. 

 

“Ow. Don’t-” Hastur rolls his eyes, moving Gabriel’s hand and moving it upwards, positioning him right where he wanted him. 

 

“Sorry, I don’t- Yours is different- Which I guess it’s supposed to be-”

 

“Then shut up and  _ learn”  _ Hastur growls, keeping his hand over Gabriel’s as he rocks his hips.

 

This is much better than whatever he’d been doing beforehand. So much better. Hastur let go of Gabriel’s hand, whimpering softly as Gabriel kept rubbing circles against him, not quite as expertly as he might’ve done himself, but made all the more pleasing by the fact that it was Gabriel doing it. He’d quite forgotten what his hands had been doing before this, for now they were covering his face and clutching the sheets, respectively. It wasn’t until Gabriel shifted, hooking Hastur’s legs over his shoulders and burying his face between his thighs, that Hastur remembered he was neglecting him. 

 

If Gabriel minded, he didn’t show it. In fact, the only thing he seemed to show was enthusiasm, and Hastur could hardly keep up, fingers twisting in the angel’s hair as his fingers were replaced by his tongue. Oh that was heav- er- deliciously wicked. He rolled his hips up into the sensation, delighting in the way Gabriel’s hands gripped his hips in an effort to still them. Go- Sat-  _ Somebody _ . He wanted more.  _ Needed _ more. Needed to be stretched, hurt,  _ filled _ . Hastur squirms in Gabriel’s clutches, suddenly aware that he was quite stuck where he was. Somehow, he’d let the archangel get the upper hand, and he whined as he was brought closer and closer to the edge. 

 

“Gabriel!” he gasped, throwing his head against the pillows as the orgasm washed over him, thighs trembling and hips jerking. He feels Gabriel smile against his folds, and the obscenity of it sends another shiver of want through him. 

 

“Did I do it right?” Gabriel asks, allowing Hastur’s hips to hit the bed as he wipes his chin. 

 

“Y..Yeah.” Hastur managed. “Yeah you did it right.” 

 

He rather suddenly realized he was wearing way too much clothing, and that all of it is now soaked through with his own secretions. Damn amphibian skin. With a snap of his fingers, it’s gone. Melted straight out of existence. Gabriel’s eyes rake over his form, drinking all of him in with an adoring gaze that Hastur can’t  _ stand _ . 

“You just gonna stare at me or are you gonna get on with it?” He snaps

 

“Get on with what?” 

 

“Oh for  _ fuck’s sake _ ” Hastur groaned. “Lay down.” 

 

Gabriel does as he’s told, laying back onto the mattress without objection. He almost misses the “Make me” Ligur would have thrown at him. But he’s not in the mood for another bout of mourning. He crawls up Gabriel’s body, straddling his hips and lining things up, before sinking down onto the angel’s cock. The moan Gabriel lets out is music to his ears, and he’s barely seated before his hips are jerking into him. If Hastur had thought the archangel had been a bit large in his hands, he was  _ huge _ inside of him. He couldn’t help the string of yelps and moans that fell from his lips as he was fucked. He’d be deliciously sore tomorrow. 

 

Gabriel grabbed him by the hips, flipping their positions. Hastur can barely keep up with him, so thoroughly consumed by the pain-spiked pleasure coursing through him. Ligur had been wild. Gabriel was _ unhinged _ . Gradually, Hastur’s moans turned to wails, and then to screams as the archangel fucked him senseless, nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood. He might’ve felt bad for it, if he could think. But the only thing he seemed capable of was wailing louder as Gabriel’s thrusts pick up speed. Abruptly, he stills, letting out a loud moan as he orgasms, filling him with his seed. Hastur gives a satisfied growl, stretching out beneath him languidly and pulling Gabriel down on top of him. 

 

“You’re uh… you’re slimy.” Gabriel remarked, nuzzling against him. 

 

“Yeah. Frog tendencies.” 

 

 “It’s okay. Nothing a nice hot bath won’t fix.”

 

Hastur hummed in approval. He wasn’t too keen on soaps (most irritated his skin), but sitting in any warm, stagnant water appealed to him on a primal level. Sitting in warm, stagnant water with Gabriel pressed against his back was even better.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Baths were nice. Sure, Gabriel could (and frequently did) just miracle himself clean, but there was something to be said for submerging this odd, human shaped body in a tub of warm water, feeling all of its muscles relax. There were so many delightful sensations he’d been missing out on simply because he’d dismissed them as “too human”. Eating, bathing, sleeping, dancing, sexual intercourse- he wasn’t  _ made _ for any of it. But he found himself enjoying it anyway. For the first time in his 12,000 year lifespan, he understood what it meant to feel  _ alive _ .

 

Then again. He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to feel this way. These things were reserved for God’s chosen creation, not him. Not any of them. It wasn’t allowed. Wasn’t supposed to  _ be _ . But isn’t that what made the forbidden fruit all the more sweet? The feeling of soft cotton sheets under his body, of water in his hair gradually soaking the pillowcase, of the warm, slightly damp hand in his, that was  _ real _ . The gentle, soft, timid waves of love washing over him were real, too. They were quiet, and weak, and fearful, but they were there, clear as day, as they had been all this time. Gabriel closes his eyes, content to bask in the warmth of it. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

It’s spoken soft. Reverent. Like a prayer in and of itself. Hastur tenses in his arms. 

 

“Don’t say that.” 

 

The answer comes just as quiet and as timid as the wave of love that accompanies it. Gabriel can’t understand it. Can’t understand why anyone might be so afraid of falling in love. He frowns, brow furrowing in confusion. 

 

“Why not?” 

 

“Someone might  _ hear. _ ”

 

Gabriel’s heart sank in his chest. 

 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.” He says solemnly, sitting up against the headboard.

 

“How do you know, huh? They're s'possed ta be omniscient, ain't they?"

 

"'How do  _ I _ know?'" Gabriel repeats, tone suddenly poisonous. "I'm a fucking Archangel,  _ babe. _ "

 

"That just makes it worse. If they find out-"

 

"Newsflash, asshole; there is no 'they'!" 

 

He's shouting now, violet eyes filled with a rage Hastur's never seen in them before. 

 

"No one's listening!!! The line's been disconnected!  _ GOD'S NOT THERE! _ "

 

The silence that follows that statement is chilling. Somehow, saying it out loud has made it worse. Made it real. As long as he'd kept quiet about it, Gabriel could pretend it wasn't happening. Pretend that the Almighty still confided in him. But the line had gone dead hundreds of years ago, and Armageddon (or the lack thereof) had done nothing to break the silence. 

 

"...Gabe?" 

 

When Hastur reaches for him, he jerks away. He can't. Can't be touched. Not now. Not after….that. 

 

"Gabriel?" 

 

" _ What?! _ "

 

".....I love you too." 

 

He breaks. Gabriel’s never cried before. Just another part of being human he’d managed to avoid, so when the tears begin to roll down his face, the sensation startles him. He buries his face in his hands, letting the demon wrap a cautious arm around his shoulders. 

 

“You can’t love me….you’re a  _ demon _ ….you can’t  _ love _ …….can you?” 

 

“Dunno. You lot are s’possed to be the experts on the matter. What do you think?” 

 

Gabriel lifts his head, violet eyes sparkling with tears, searching Hastur’s face for any signs of deceit, searching for that feeling of love that had been hushed, yet ever-present since that fateful morning in the bathtub. He breathes a sigh of relief when he feels it wash over him again. It’s stronger now than it ever has been before, and envelops him like a blanket, warm and comforting. Overcome with emotion, he cups Hastur’s face and kisses him square on the forehead, smile finding its way back to his face through the tears. 

 

“I think you’re not like any demon I’ve ever met.”

 

“How many other demons have you met?”

 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the best Hell has to offer.” 

  
“Oh _ , shut up _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you ever just run out of ideas for chapter titles and start naming them after whatever song you're currently listening to? no? just me then? alright. 
> 
> sorry this took a week to get out. I have no excuse for you this is just how I am adjfhshf Bon appetit.


	7. Falling

Gabriel was seldom incorrect. It was a trait he prided himself on, really. So when it did happen, that Gabriel was wrong, it was a very alarming experience for him. When his cellphone rang, filling the hotel lobby with the dulcet tones of Lady GaGa, his eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw the name on the caller ID.

 

“Uriel?” he said into the receiver, hoping his confusion didn’t show through.

 

_ “Gabriel! Glad we could reach you. You’ve been summoned back upstairs.”  _

 

 “I- What?”

 

_ “You’re an  _ Archangel _ , Gabriel. You have responsibilities. And to be quite frank, we’re becoming…. _ Concerned _.” _

 

“Concerned? Why?” He asked innocently 

 

_ “You’ve been on Earth for quite a while. It’s not like you.” _

 

“Oh. Yeah, I’m just trying something differ-”

 

_ “Just don’t get carried away. Report to heaven as soon as possible. We’ll be expecting you.” _

 

And with that, they hung up. Huh. Was Uriel always this short with other angels? Gabriel hadn’t noticed until it was directed at him. This whole phone call had left him with a bad feeling in his gut. Metaphorically, of course. Gabriel rarely manifested organs for himself. Intestines were weird and uncomfortable. 

 

He decided that he might as well get whatever Heaven had planned for him over with, stopping briefly to drop off the disgustingly sweet cup of coffee he’d purchased on the bedside table, kissing a sleeping Hastur on the forehead before heading out as quickly and quietly as he’d come in. 

 

He debated going back to heaven the old fashioned way- portaling or flying directly there- but instead decided on the more modern approach. The escalator draws less attention than a streak of purple lighting in the middle of a clear afternoon. Gabriel isn’t sure what to expect from this. He hasn’t done anything explicitly  _ wrong _ , per se, but then again, the lines between right and wrong had been…...fuzzy at best for the last 200 years. A bit too open to interpretation, for his liking.

 

What he wasn’t expecting was to be greeted by all three of them, standing in a semicircle of judgement, waiting expectantly for him. His smile falters only a little. There’s a heavy feeling of anticipation in the air. Like he’d just been called to the school principal’s office. 

 

“Hey guys! What’s up?”  

 

“We were rather hoping you’d tell us.” Michael prodded gently

 

Gabriel cocked his head to one side, briefly resembling a confused dog. 

 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You run off to Earth out of the blue, spend your time  _ cavorting  _ with the  _ enemy _ , and to put it quite simply-” Michael’s voice breaks into a harsh and displeased whisper, as if she’d worried they might be overheard. “We’re beginning to worry that you are  _ rebelling. _ ”

 

The word hits Gabriel like a freight train. Rebelling? Against Heaven? Against God’s plan?  _ Him?  _ He can’t stomach the idea. He remembers the rebellion. Remembers how many lives it took and how many more it ruined. Remembers how in the aftermath angels were hunted down and cast out for so much as a wrong thought. Remembers how careful he’d been since, how hard he fought to protect those who remained from the same horrible fate. Now to have the accusation thrown at him that he’s let that careful guard slip?

 

He realizes with a sinking feeling that she’s right. He’s been questioning. He’s been  _ denouncing _ . He’s been running around with a demon, and the worst part is he can’t bring himself to feel sorry for it. Gabriel knows that he should feel repentant and remorseful, but instead the questions that he’d once been so afraid of only ring louder in his soul. He realizes that he’s been quiet for too long, and quickly thinks of something to say. There’s only one thing that comes to his mind.

 

“With all due respect, there’s no ‘enemy’ to cavort with anymore. There’s no war.” 

 

He can’t defend any other part of the accusation against him, but he is certain of that much. They’d let Aziraphale off, after all. Though, not for lack of trying. Gabriel sets his shoulders back, clasping his hands in front of him, matching the posture of his colleagues. 

 

“Are you sure?” Uriel demands stiffly. “Would you be willing to stake your life on it?” 

 

“Completely.” Gabriel answers. It’s an easy answer. He already risks his life for it. “Aziraphale-”

 

“Is a traitor.” Sandalphon interrupts. “We do not speak of him.” 

 

And it was true. Not a word had been uttered about or toward Aziraphale from anyone other than Gabriel himself since his failed execution. They were all too afraid. After all, if hellfire could not harm him, then he  _ certainly  _ was no angel. But it raised too many questions as to what he  _ was _ if not angel nor human, nor even demon. Angels did not like questions. Gabriel nods stiffly, lips pursed. He’d be the first to admit that he was not clever, but he didn’t necessarily need to be in order to amend the situation. Here goes nothing.

 

“Certainly not. The game has  _ changed _ , my friends. The Almighty has had nothing to say on the matter. Surely if it was so against Her plan, she would have intervened, or at least contacted Michael, Uriel, or myself. I haven’t heard anything since the crucifixion. Have you?”

 

The angels shifted uncomfortably, save for Uriel who stood as composed as ever. They were unshakable, and while that was usually one of the traits Gabriel most admired in them, it was quite unhelpful when he was attempting to sway the crowd. 

“Her silence on the matter does not equal approval, Gabriel. You were there for the revolution. Surely you must understand that to speak in such a manner is...dangerous?” Uriel supplies, their voice just a bit softer than they usually allowed. 

 

“Yes. I understand. I remember. How could anyone forget-”

 

“You are setting a bad example. First Aziraphale, now you? An  _ Archangel _ ? The last thing we need is another revolution at hand.”

 

“In order for there to be a revolution, there’d have to be something to rise against. Has it ever occurred to you that no where have we been expressly forbidden from becoming...close… with our fallen brethren?”

 

Silence again. He was winning. Either that or he was seconds away from being burned as a traitor and a heretic, but Gabriel preferred to be optimistic about most things. They turned away from him, speaking in hushed tones, apparently unable to wait until he’d left the room to decide his fate. It was different, being on the outside of that circle. Gabriel wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Just as he’d begun to form an opinion, they turned back to him, looking somehow stiffer than before. 

 

“We’ve decided to allow you to carry on with your little...experiment. However, we cannot allow you to continue to shirk your heavenly duties. Henceforth you will operate as any other field agent would. You’ll receive your first assignment within the week.” Michael said, a victorious little twinkle in her eye that says this was her idea. 

 

“You’re...demoting me?”

 

“What would you have us do, Gabriel? You are clearly unsuited to your desk job at present.” Uriel said with more than a little irritation

 

“Besides, I thought you would be….happier on Earth.” Michael added with a prim little smile.

 

Gabriel looks between the two of them before turning to Sandalphon, who simply shrugged under his gaze. Demoted, then. The Archangel Gabriel doing the work of lesser Angels. Performing miracles for humans. Being watched and scrutinized and so very  _ limited _ . There were certainly worse alternatives, but that didn’t make him any more excited about the prospect. He frowns just a little. 

 

“Right. Well. Thanks, I guess. Do I just go back now, or is-”

 

“That would probably be for the best, yes.” Michael interrupts. “We’ll be in touch.”

 

 Gabriel turns on his heel, heading back to Earth with a heavy heart. God my not be listening anymore, but he had been foolish to think that Heaven had stopped. At least he’d still have Earth and all of its worldly pleasures. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was alone. He’d have Hastur, and if things got rough, well, Aziraphale had been doing this for millenia. Surely he’d have good advice.

\--------------------------------------

 

Hastur had woken up alone. This had been cause enough for alarm, but when he’d found a melting Frappucino on the sideboard and no Gabriel, he panicked. There was no note, no more clothes on the floor, no sign that the angel had ever been here to begin with, other than the coffee on the bedside table and the smell of ozone in the bedsheets. Hastur sat half-dressed on the edge of the bed, head cradled in his hands, a million and one horrible possibilities running through his head. What if Gabriel had been taken? What if he’d finally decided he didn’t want to screw a demon anymore and flown the coop? What if Heaven had come for him and executed him? What if-

 

The TV switches on, and Lord Beelzebub’s face appears on its screen, lounged on the grey sofa in the bridal shop on that dress show Gabriel was fond of. They look more tired than usual, which Hastur knew to be a bad sign. He couldn’t bring himself to care, though. Not like this. 

 

“Duke Hastur.” Beelzebub droned. 

 

“What?” Hastur snapped, still nervously searching the hotel room. 

 

“You haven’t been Downstairs in months. Exzzzzzzzzplain.” 

 

“Don’t wanna go back.” Hastur shrugs. “You ain’t got me doin nothin useful anyhow.”

 

Beelzebub leaned forward, ire sparked. Hastur hadn’t showed them an iota of the respect they’ve come to expect from their subordinates and they are buzzing mad. Hastur didn’t care about that either. Let them rip his head off if they wanted.

 

“ _ I _ am the one who decidezzzz where you are useful!!  _ I _ am the one our Dark Lord entrusts to keep you and all the other dizzzzzgusting maggots in line, and you will show me some respect!”

 

“Sure. Alright,  _ My Lord _ , go ahead, tell me how best I may serve you!” He popped off sarcastically 

 

“Put a damn shirt on, for starters!”

 

Hastur snaps his fingers and is fully dressed, right down to the fingerless biker gloves he so favored. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring spectacularly at them. 

 

“Better?”   
  


“Almozzt. I need you to get your ungrateful asszzzzzzzzz back to work. Whether that’s down here or up there on Earth is neither here nor there, but if I don’t start seeing resultzz there  _ will _ be consequences.” 

 

“Fine! Now piss off, I’m busy!” 

 

Beelzebub looks for a moment as if they might come through the television and strangle him, but mercifully, the television switches off. Hastur slams himself back against the mattress, dragging his hands down his face, leaving oozing scratches in his wake. He doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or to cry. Where the bloody hell had Gabriel gone?! Why had he  _ left _ ?! Where did that bastard angel get off, making him feel things, making his bold declarations and then just leaving?! He was accomplishing nothing by laying here, staining the sheets with ichor. Hastur peeled himself off of the bed. With shaking hands, he lights up a cigarette, and then decidedly, lowers his lighter to catch the gauze curtain in its flame. It goes up in a spectacular blaze, catching the wallpaper, the wainscot, the ceiling. Before long the entire hotel room is a raging inferno. He closes the door as he walks out of it, places the room key on the front desk, signs the little checkout book, and leaves.

 

\------------------------------------

 

When Gabriel arrives back on earth, he finds the hotel roaring with flame. His first, panicked thought is that Hastur’s discorporated himself. Gone back to Hell where Gabriel couldn’t follow. He nearly ran into the blaze before realizing just how pointless it would be, instead, he plops down onto the curb, the first responders and frightened people not taking notice of him in the slightest. It’s only after five whole minutes of cradling his head in his hands hopelessly that he remembers a little anecdote from their first date concerning a burning church. He doesn’t remember which of them started  _ that _ fire, but he does know it wasn’t accidental. That means there’s at least a chance- but he had to  _ find _ him.

 

It turned out it wasn’t the herculean task he’d initially thought. The first place he’d thought to look had been the murky, secluded little pond where Hastur liked to sit and hold his hand, and sure enough that’s where he found him; lying face down in the middle of the pond, looking like a corpse to any casual observer. He waded into the muck, scowling a bit as the water soaked into his socks, his pant legs, ruining his crisp suit. Gabriel puts a gentle hand on the demon’s shoulder.

 

“Hastur?”

 

The water sloshed as Hastur jerked his face up from the water to look up at him. Gabriel gave him a weak and concerned smile. Almost immediately, he was drawn into a sopping wet, bone-crushing hug. Somehow, Hastur always managed to surprise him with his strength.  Gabriel returned the embrace best he could, but the fact that they were still in the pond and that Hastur was on his knees was making it difficult. 

 

“Hey, hey. It’s alright. What happened?”

 

“‘What happened’?! What happened is you bloody well  _ abandoned _ me in that hotel room!”

 

Gabriel gripped him by the arms, pulling Hastur to his feet. He wants nothing more than to comfort him, but it’s next to impossible to do in the middle of this pond.

 

“I’m sorry, Hastur. I didn’t mean to, honest.” He mumbles into the wet sleeve of Hastur’s trenchcoat. 

 

“You’re always honest. ‘S intolerable.” 

 

“I was called back Upstairs. I shoulda left a note or something.”

 

Hastur tensed in his arms at the mention of upstairs, and he took to trembling against him. Perhaps explaining was a bad decision just yet. 

 

“What’d they ‘ave to say?” He asks, his voice betraying his fears.

 

“They uh…. They demoted me. No more corner office. I’m a…..field agent.”

 

“A-a demotion? Tha’s all?”

 

“Yeah. Hastur- is that ichor? You’ve hurt yourself-”

 

“It don’t matter.”

 

“It does to me. Why don’t we get out of this pond and I’ll patch those scratches up, hm?”

 

“Alright, fine. But before we go home we’re getting starbucks.” Hastur declares, trudging his way out of the muck, trailing Gabriel behind him.

 

“Where is ‘home’ now, anyway? You burned down the Hotel.”

 

“Their fault for not keeping the building up ta code.”

 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” Gabriel said, miracling his clothes...at least presentable. “I think we oughta get something a little more permanent, seeing as we might be in it for the long haul.” 

 

“”We’? You askin’ me to move in with you, Gabe?”

“Please.” Gabriel scoffed, running a thumb across the scratches and miracling them away. He might be well on his way to getting his first ever write up for frivolous miracle usage, but it was worth it. “We’ve been living together for months. I’m just thinking we get an apartment or something.”

 

“Sounds like trouble. I’m in.” 


	8. Domesticity

The real estate agent had warned them that it was a ‘bit of a fixer-upper”, but Hastur couldn’t find a single thing about the tiny cottage he didn’t love. Its 4 tiny rooms, the ivy that crawled up the side of the house, the old hardwood floor that creaked as he walked across it, the outdated kitchen appliances, the thick layers of dust. It reminds him of the ramshackle little places he and Ligur would retreat to for a few years of alone time. He would’ve liked it here, Ligur. Thinking about him is becoming easier for Hastur. He can look back on their time together and be glad for it, though the memories are still tinged with sadness. Hastur runs his fingers over a garish, moth eaten curtain. 

 

“I understand if you two just want to move on to the next place. This house is a huge undertaking for a first time buyer. “ Their real estate agent, Barb, called from the doorway. 

 

“Well, it’s certainly got… character.” He heard Gabriel say to her. 

 

Hastur wasn’t really paying attention to them. He’d already made his decision and was currently inspecting the wainscot, the baseboards, the hard wood of the floor, until he’s lying on the floor with his cheek to the cool wood. Yes, this was the place. This was home.    
  
“Mr. Archangel is your friend alright?”

 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. He just likes it here. I think we’ll take it.”

 

“Great! We’ll put in an offer and see where it goes from there! Between you and me, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. This place has been on the market for quite a while.” 

 

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have  _ any _ trouble at all.” And Hastur can  _ hear _ the wink in his voice. 

 

The house might as well be theirs. Gabriel will have miracled it so that all that’s left to do is the paperwork. If Hastur had done it, he’d have taken care of that as well, but the blasted archangel seemed to actually like the stuff. Perhaps that’s how he functioned behind a desk for so long. That didn’t matter though. What mattered was that he was here, laying on the floor in what would be  _ their _ bedroom in  _ their _ home. Not some stupid hotel or a shack they were just renting for a month or two, but a little plot of earth that belonged just to them. He wished he’d burned that damned hotel down ages ago. 

 

\----------------------------------

 

Gabriel returned to their new home and immediately felt something...wrong. All the windows and the front door were thrown wide open, and the smell of pine sol floated out of them with the voice of Stevie Nicks, accompanied by an unfamiliar backup singer. He was certain that someone had broken in, and he dropped the shopping bags, summoning an enormous glowing spear from the ether. He peered in through the front door, silent as a mouse and cleverly hidden in the sheet of ivy, ready to smite whoever was stupid enough to break into the home of an Archangel. Instead of a burglar, however, Gabriel is confronted with an even more shocking find. 

 

There was a dusty boom box set up on the kitchen counter, a small hoard of cassette tapes scattered around it, the ones that had been rejected sat destroyed, ribbons ripped out and curling on the counter. In the center of it all stood his demon, pushing a mop across the linoleum and crooning along to a tune Gabriel doesn’t recognize, but can appreciate nonetheless. He leans in the doorway, vanishing his weapon and taking in the sight before him. The song ends, much too soon for Gabriel’s liking, and Hastur finally takes notice of him, freezing in place and looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. His smile widens. 

 

“H-How long have you been standing there?” The demon stuttered, putting the mop back into the bucket. 

 

“Oh, long enough. You never told me you could sing.”

 

“I don’t make a habit of it.”

 

“You should. Your voice is  _ heavenly _ ”

 

“Yeah, and you couldn’t carry a tune if it had handles. Ironic, innit?” 

 

“Oh shut up.” 

 

Hastur leans on the mop handle, smirking at him in that way that sent a thrill through the Archangel. 

 

“Or what?”

 

“Or I’ll serenade you.”

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

“The roof  _ leaks _ !!!” Hastur despaired, catching a drop in the palm of his hand. 

 

Gabriel turned the page of his newspaper. Hastur doubted he actually read the thing, but the angel had insisted upon receiving it daily and making a ritual of pretending to. He had his suspicions that Gabriel had seen just one too many Norman Rockwell paintings, and the newspaper ritual was merely a way of imitating human domestic life. Without taking his eyes off the newsprint, he said;

 

“Well, this place has sat empty for almost half a century. What do you expect?”

 

“I expect something to be done about it.” Hastur replied a bit shortly, finding a mug to place under the steady drip. 

 

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m a field agent now. I can’t perform miracles at my own leisure.” Gabriel sighs, flipping a page.  

 

Hastur crossed the room and ripped the newspaper from Gabriel’s hand, incinerating it with a mere thought. The Archangel looks at the pile of ash on the carpet just a bit disappointed, but not at all intimidated by the gesture. 

 

“Then get a bloody hammer and do it the old fashioned way! I don’t care! We can’t have a  _ roof _ that  _ leaks _ !”

 

“Why’s it so important to you anyway?” Gabriel asked, cocking his head. “Isn’t filth and squalor kind of your thing?”

 

“Maybe I don’t  _ want  _ it to be my thing! Maybe I wanna live somewhere where it doesn’t stink of mildew and sulfur, and the walls aren’t growing mold, and the roof does its  _ fucking job!! _ ” Hastur shouted, clenching his hands into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white and his nails broke skin, black ichor oozing stickily between his fingers. 

 

Gabriel reached out, arms pulling Hastur into his lap, hand immediately moving to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades. With a wave of his hand, the roof is miraculously leak-free and the pile of ash on the carpet is gone. Uriel would just have to forgive him that one. And the one after it, which he used to close the crescent shaped gouges in Hastur’s palms. He was beginning to understand why Aziraphale had always struggled to stay under his miracle limit,  

 

“I jus want somethin nice for once.” Hastur sighed, reluctantly calming down. 

 

And he did. He wanted the floors scrubbed and the walls painted and the corners dusted. Not for any lack of love for muck and grime- he loved sitting in pond scum as much as the next amphibous creature- but simply because he’d never had it. Never been able to. Oh, it hadn’t stopped him from  _ trying _ before. He’d always been sending memos to maintenance to fix something or other in Hell, or putting up signs to deter some of the more...feral... of his species from behaving like animals, or organizing his office over and over again. But it was Hell. The memos were ignored, the signs were ignored, and his office always somehow managed to be in disarray. But here? On Earth? He finally had a  _ chance _ . 

 

“I didn’t know how much it meant to you.” Gabriel said, leaning his cheek against Hastur’s forehead. 

 

“Neither did I.”  

 

“....Does this mean I don’t have to keep fishing you out of gross bodies of water?”

 

“Heh. You wish.”

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

 

Gabriel was no longer allowed to shop for housewares on his own. Hastur had declared this when he’d sent him for curtains, and the angel had returned with a desk lamp shaped like a cactus, a giant beanbag chair, 12  _ different _ towels, a personal light-up message board, a rotating spice rack, and several bags of decorative soaps that were made to look like seashells. Gabriel, personally, did not see anything  _ wrong _ with these purchases, but nonetheless, the next time he announced that he was shopping for the house, Hastur had slinked off the couch and into the passenger seat of the deep violet corvette Gabriel had insisted was also a necessity. 

 

“Put it down” He said flatly, not even looking at what Gabriel was trying to show him.

 

“You aren’t even looking!!” Gabriel whined

 

“Don’t have to. I already know whatever it is, we don’t need it.”

 

“You’re no fun.”

 

Gabriel puts the cake ball maker back on the shelf, pouting uselessly at Hastur’s back. Shopping was decidedly less fun when there was a list and he was made to stick to it. He much preferred delighting himself with the more  _ interesting _ things humanity had come up with, like string lights and lava lamps and those little erasers that came in different shapes and fit together like puzzles. But no. They were here for  _ curtains _ . Stupid, boring curtains. 

 

“You know, if you’d just gotten curtains the first time, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Hastur patronizes. “What do you think about this?”

 

“I think they’re all awful. I don’t get why we need curtains anyway.” 

 

“So I can screw you without the whole neighborhood seeing, stupid. If you won’t help, I’m just getting the grey ones.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Well, when he put it that way. Gabriel wrapped his arms around his demon’s waist, standing on tiptoe to put his head on his shoulder. 

 

“Why not let the whole neighborhood see?” He purred seductively, lips against Hastur’s neck. He smiles when he feels the skin there warm under his touch. 

 

“I don’t think you’d like that.” 

 

“Oh? Why not?”

 

“Because you’d have to live with the neighborhood knowing that you go crosseyed every time you cum.” Hastur smirked, covering the angel’s hands with his own

 

“Wh- I DO NOT!” Gabriel balked, pulling back as far as he could with his hands trapped under Hastur’s. 

 

The demon releases his hands to pull the pen from behind his ear, writing onto the shopping list with a dastardly grin. Gabriel’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he’s back on his tiptoes, peering over his shoulder to get a look at what he’s written. In Hastur’s barely legible scrawl, the list’s latest acquisition was  _ “One Floor-Length mirror (bedroom)” _

 

\------------------------------------------------ 

 

“I told you so.” Hastur whispered in his ear, one hand still holding Gabriel’s head up by the roots of his hair. “But if you didn’t get a good enough look this time, I can always do it again.”

 

Gabriel whined in protest beneath him. Hastur had already carried him well past overstimulated and he was positively fucked-out, covered in semen in various stages of drying, and bite marks, and the demon’s amphibian-like ooze that always seemed to triple in viscosity and intensity with arousal. His eyes were locked to the newly purchased mirror, watching Hastur drive into him with purpose, violet eyes hazy and dark with lust. Gabriel squirmed in Hastur’s slick grip, though whether he’s trying to get away or get closer is anyone’s guess. Hastur chuckled against his skin. 

 

“Would you like me to do it again, Gabriel?” He said darkly, already knowing the answer as he works his free hand down to his cock

 

“AH!!!” Gabriel cried out, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “Please! Oh go- sa-  _ FUCK!  _ MERCY!” 

 

“Alright pet. I hear you.” Hastur murmurs affectionately, moving both hands to the archangel’s chiseled hips.

He’s already so close that it only takes a few deliberate thrusts to send him over the edge, spilling into him with a low whine. Hastur pressed soft, messy kisses to Gabriel’s shoulders, paying special attention to every bruise he’d left on Gabriel’s angel soft skin. As much as he enjoyed the angel making love to him, Hastur had a growing appreciation for having his wicked way with him. 

 

“I’m slimy.” Gabriel complained, scowling. 

 

“Yeah. You are.” As if to emphasize the point, Hastur drug his hand through the mess across his stomach. 

 

“Can we please get less slimy?”

 

He tightened his grip around the angel, burying his face against his shoulder to hide his smile. Truthfully, a long hot bath sounded perfect right about now, but he couldn’t just bend to Gabriel’s every whim without a little resistance. He had a demonic reputation to uphold, after all. 

 

“Don’t wanna. I like you slimy.” 

 

“But it’s  _ gross _ .” 

 

“You love it.” 

 

“I really don’t.” 

 

“Mmmmm… If I run you a bath, what’s in it for me, Gabe?” 

 

“The Archangel Gabriel does not  _ bargain _ for the privilege of  _ bathing _ .” 

 

“The Field Agent Gabriel does, because he doesn’t want Uriel seeing that he used his divine energy to cleanse himself of demon spunk.” 

 

“....I’ll keep the hickeys if you go run me a bath.” 

 

Hastur chuckles behind him. He’d always made a better demon than he ever had an angel, and it was nice to see he wasn’t losing his edge, even if they both knew there was no real threat to any of his words. The last thing he wanted was anyone thinking he’d gone soft. Or well. Soft-er. 

 

“You’ve made yourself a deal with the devil, Gabriel.”

 

“Drama queen.” 

 

\---------------------------------------------

“Hastur?”

 

“Hmn?”

 

“What uh. What was he like?” 

 

“Who?”

 

“Your partner. Ligur.”

 

Gabriel knows he’s in dangerous territory with this line of questioning, but he can’t keep it to himself anymore. They need to talk about it.  _ Hastur  _ needs to talk about it. The demon stiffens against him. 

 

“I dunno.” 

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“He….” Hastur starts, and then stops again, unable to find the right words. “He was curious. Always askin’ questions. He liked to take things apart just to see how they worked, y’know? And he weren’t scared of nothin. Not like me. Well, nothin except…”

 

Hastur trails off and Gabriel can tell without looking that he’s fighting tears. He moves a hand to stroke through the demon’s hair. It’s a lot softer than it used to be. Fluffier too. It’s probably never been washed so frequently since the body was issued to him. 

 

“....Except anything happening to me.” Hastur manages. “Ligur was always the valiant one. Always savin my ass one way or the other, right up until…. U-until…..well until the end.” 

 

Gabriel nods, taking in the information. Though he’d never met the guy personally, Michael had known Ligur in life, and while her view of him had always been skewed in the negative (at least, as far as he knew), she had said much of the same. It was different, though, hearing Hastur talk about him. Every word helped him build an image of this person who Hastur had cared so much for and Gabriel had never known.

 

“We were in love before, ya know. Before the war. When we were all angels. It wasn’t exactly above bar then- a Seraph and a Principality. Maybe that’s what made free will so appealin.”

 

“....He was a Seraph?” 

 

“Er...no. No, uh…  _ I _ was a Seraph.”  

 

“ _ You _ were a  _ Seraph? _ ” 

 

“Big emphasis on the ‘was’ there. I fell, ‘member?  _ Chose _ to, even. I looked your God in the face and told ‘em to fuck off.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure you did.” Gabriel says fondly. “I just can’t believe….all this time, you’ve outranked me, and I never even knew.” 

 

“Leave it to you to take an emotional moment and turn it into a discussion of angelic hierarchy.” 

 

“Sorry. You just… surprised me.” 

 

“Good. I was always worried that one of your lot might be able to  _ tell _ that I was….high up.” 

 

“Nope. Not a trace of Seraphim in you.” 

 

“I love you, you know.” 

 

“Of course I know. I’m an angel. I can sense it. “

 

“What’s that like?”

 

“What, your love?” 

 

“Mmhmn.”

 

Gabriel thinks for a moment. Closes his eyes. Lets himself feel out Hastur’s affection. It’s still quiet, but it’s a lot stronger than before. More intense. More resolute. 

 

“It’s soft, but strong. Like you.” 

 

Hastur made a choked noise, holding him just a little tighter. Gabriel can feel him smiling against him, and he smiled back, kissing the top of his head. The love around him grows a little brighter. 

 

“Shut up.”

 

\---------------------------------------

 

“We should throw a housewarming party.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’s the thing to do when you move into a new house.”

 

“Did your ‘Mayonnaise Jello’ magazine tell you that?”

 

Gabriel glares at him over a yellowing copy of “Better Homes and Gardens”. Unlike the papers, Hastur  _ is _ certain that he reads those. He’s also certain that whatever demon wrote the recipes in the aging editions Gabriel favored was gunning for his job and libel to get it, too. 

 

“ _ Maybe. _ ” Gabriel snapped. “At least I’m bothering to do my research.” 

 

“Alright. I’ll humor you. Let’s say we have this party. Who the hell are we gonna invite? We don’t  _ know _ anybody.”

 

“Sure we do!! There’s Michael and Sandalphon and Uriel and-”

 

“And you think you’re little angel friends are gonna like me?”

 

“Well what about from your side? We could invite Beelze-”

 

“If you invite my boss, I’m kicking you out.” 

 

“They aren’t that bad.”

 

“You haven’t seen them after 6 shots of espresso.” 

 

“Fine. We could invite Barb?”

 

“Wha, the house lady?”

 

“Yeah. And there’s always Aziraphale and Crowley.”

 

“You know we’re not  _ friends _ with any of those people, right?

 

“Aziraphale is my friend.”

 

Hastur doesn’t argue that. He doesn’t agree with it, but he knows better than to say anything. Let Gabriel live in his little cloud of blissful ignorance. He strokes his chin in thought, contemplating a social gathering with a human and two demon/angel couples who can barely contain their distaste for one another. It’s a terrible idea. Especially if the idea had come from a magazine that recommended putting things like spam and olives in gelatin. But Hastur’s always had a taste for disaster. 

 

“Sure, we’ll have your social gathering-”

 

“Housewarming party.”

“Housewarming party, then. But you’re writing the invites.”


End file.
